Space Race
by shishunki
Summary: As Cold War tensions rise, America challenges Russia to a race to the moon and their relationship begins to change in an unexpected way. RussiaAmerica.
1. Chapter 1

This is based on a roleplay with Shatterdoll. There aren't a lot of Space Race fics out there and it is a crying shame. Obviously, the stuff with McDonalds is not quite historically accurate. They totally were not internationalized by then, I'm sure. Anyway, this is fairly fluffy and just for fun. Please leave a review and tell us what you think!

Okay, I kind of redid some of the chapter. Nothing important, really, just... stuff.

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Meetings had not been the same since after the war. The change in leadership in several countries had been a big turn in a different direction, but what America noticed the most was just how large Russia had become. There had always been a bit of tension between the two and a fair amount of rightful distrust, but it seemed to have been brought into light even more over the recent months. It had developed into a war of sorts, but it was far more psychological than it was physical. It mostly consisted of glaring at each other from across rooms and making snide remarks about each other's weight. Today, however, was different. The tension had risen to the point that one of them was going to snap.

America glared across the table at the Russian who was smiling at him in a way that made the hairs stand on his back. The staring contest had been going on for the past ten minutes and, though his eyes were starting to water, he would not blink. The other members of the meeting were starting to catch on to what was going on and pay more attention to them than the current speaker. America gripped at the desk. Damn Commie, he should have been distrustful of him from the get-go. He was sure he was planning to get him just as soon as his back was turned.

The Communist in question continued to smile at America in the same sickeningly sweet way he always had, musing over just amusing he was. Russia was not certain, but it seemed like he wanted to play a game. How fun! Russia loved games and no one ever wanted to play with him. America seemed tense, as if he was expecting an attack any second. Russia would never be so stupid to harm him during a meeting, though he wasn't completely unjustified in his concern. He watched the American grow more and more tense, counting down the seconds to when he would finally explode.

"Dammit, what's your problem?! Are you trying to pick a fight?" America shot out of his chair as he yelled at the Russian, feeling that his eyes were about to shrivel up. The room went deadly silent as all eyes turned to see what would happen. Russia giggled softly and tilted his head up to look at him.

"I have no problems, nor am I trying to pick a fight. Would you like one? It might be fun... if you think you can handle it." He giggled again. The attention shifted back to America, everyone waiting to see his response.

"Ha!" He grinned at him, half-amused and half-pissed. "Please, we already know I'd win. I have a better idea. A race." So far improvising was working well. There was no way he could beat him in a head-on fight due to the fact that Russia was stronger than him in sheer size and in the numbers of his people. He paused, quickly scrambling for a place and settling on the first thing that came to mind without stopping to think about how stupid that sounded. "A race to the moon."

Russia looked up for a moment, eyebrows raising in childlike delight and he began to laugh. The moon. How very... American. His laughter under control, Ivan studied America's young face for a moment. Perhaps the fool had just said the first thing to come to his mind. In fact he knew America had said the first thing that came to his mind, but he decided to take it quite seriously. Standing, Russia extended his hand.

"Very well, I accept your challenge. First one to the moon wins. I am quite looking forward to it." After getting over the initial moment of shock that Russia had actually accepted, America looked him in the eyes and took his hand, shaking it firmly before letting go.

"May the best man win." No one dared to say anything. This shit storm had been growing for the past few years. Canada attempted to talk his brother out of it, but was dutifully ignored. The awe-inspiring United States of America, land of the free and home of the brave, had challenged the wimpy Russian Federation, land of the fail and home of the lame, to a race. And he would be damned if he did not win. After a brief and painfully awkward silence, the meeting continued as if nothing had happened. The American drew little spaceships on his notes while the meeting was wrapped up. Truth be told, things had been a little boring lately. This would certainly liven things up, and Russia's crushed expression would be priceless.

Russia watched America throughout the meeting, noting his general obliviousness and doodles. Perhaps he did not realize that when Russia played games, he played to win. Oh well, he would certainly learn soon enough. Russia had to contain another giggle at the thought. As the meeting came to a close, he stood and waited until the room began to clear, keeping his smile trained on the shorter man. Finally he spoke as the ever oblivious America finally looked up, his voice soft and perhaps not as playful as usual.

"I will win you know." A scowl crossed America's face before lightening into a look of mild annoyance.

"Hmph. I wouldn't be too sure of that." He gathered up his drawings and stuffed them in his briefcase. "Though I have to admit, this wouldn't be near as interesting if it was with anyone else." Obviously because Russia was a sick bastard who probably had no sense of fair play. America would have to work his ass off to win, and he would not have it any other way. This whole dispute could be solved and he would not have to put up with any more creepy smiles. He started walking but kept an eye on him, suspicious. The moment one let their guard down around a Commie was the moment they got shanked, and he was not about to let that happen.

Russia's face lit up when he heard the words. He was glad to hear America say such a thing and silently agreed. There was no one else who would play this game nearly as well, no one he would want to play it with as much. Russia noticed the blond watching him and couldn't help but wink. He was laughably paranoid. It was rather cute really. He began to follow him, perhaps keeping up with him longer than was really necessary. It was just so amusing the way he threw increasingly irritated and paranoid looks behind him, his steps quickening.

"Dont you have anything better to do than follow me?" He was hungry, irritable, and needed to formulate his plans. Clearly the best place to do this was McDonalds, but he had not seen one on the way in. In fact, he had not seen one since arriving in Germany for the meeting, which was extremely strange considering his main goal was internationalizing it. Russia only laughed.

"Not particularly, comrade. I suppose I could begin making plans to reach the moon... Ah, but then it would be too easy to win if you didn't get a head start, don't you think?" He smiled in mocking amusement. America's cheeks reddened a little in anger and he spluttered, unable to think of a single witty remark.

"Jerk... Whatever, do what you want." He started walking again, though now at more of a trot, and looked for a McDonalds, occasionally glancing over his shoulder. Russia continued to follow him, at first to irritate him, then out of curiosity. He could not fathom what he was wandering out looking for. The American seemed increasingly irritated as well. As entertaining as it was to see the other bumble his way around another country, Russia was beginning to get bored. Perhaps he should let the other get himself lost and see if he found his way back by the next meeting. However, his thoughts were cut short when the other abruptly stopped and turned to face him.

"You, Commie! You've been here before, right, where's a good place to eat?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them, certain Russia would probably just suggest a pig trough or something equally demeaning. However, Russia looked a bit taken off guard by the question. The man who had just challenged him was asking him for a place to eat. He could not help but grin at the prospect. What a naive thing to do, and yet the younger man had always seemed led by his stomach. He thought about it, wondering if he should tell him a truly atrocious place, but thought of something better.

"Da, I have been here. I can take you somewhere. It has been a while since I've had lunch with someone. And do remember before you decline that your stomach is on the line." Ooh it rhymed, how fun! Russia was certain he would enjoy this greatly, though he could not say the same for America, who had opened his mouth to protest before closing it and nodding dumbly. A voice in the back of his mind screamed at him, telling him he was a fool. Food should not be that important to him. And yet, it was.

"... Alright, but I've got my eye on you! Don't try to poison my food, creep." At that point, it didn't matter if it was poisoned or not, he would eat it. "So... Lead the way, I guess."

As awkward as it was for America, Russia did not seem phased. In fact, he was absolutely brimming with amusement. The idiot was putting his life in his hands for a meal.

"Poison? Don't be so melodramatic. I would never win a game by cheating." Well, not cheating so blatantly anyway. "Come along then, I know a place nearby. Germany took me to a restaurant like it once, when we were allies. Of course it's a different one. This whole city seems so different from back then. But I guess you wouldn't know anything about that, so safe across the ocean. Shall we hold hands so as not to get separated?" He smirked at the thought, quite pleased with himself, but was glared at in response.

"I'll pass, thanks. And quite honestly, I get enough of you guys at meetings. I can't imagine being on the same continent." He walked with him, following him against his better judgement. Who knew, maybe he would actually take him to a restaurant instead of disembowling him. It was a chance he was willing to take. Russia shrugged at his refusal with a small smile and began leading down a crowded street, and away from the building.

-

And that's that. I find it insanely hard to switch from roleplay format to a fic, but that is because I am an extremely lazy individual. Since it is all written up, though, it won't be too hard.

Update: I fixed some of the crap I should have caught from the first time around. No switching names anymore... which is so painful for me because it's so convenient. It sounds so repetitive otherwise... I now understand why the great Russian writers used a million nicknames for their characters. It wasn't to add depth or anything. It was laziness.


	2. Chapter 2

Here's what I want to know: Did America wear fedoras and pinstriped suits? Did he say things like "Golly," "Oh gee," and "Swell"? Shatterdoll and I both wholeheartedly believe that would be so boss. Unf. ... That's all I wanted to know.

On to chapter two. I cant believe it took this long, I'm very ashamed. I need to do something about my laziness. But I wont. Please review!

* * *

The search for a restaurant had led the two powers down many twisting streets and the two had to fight the crowd to move even a little in the right direction, though America was seriously questioning whether or not Russia knew where he was going. The Russki had probably blown so many brain cells out with vodka and bear-related injuries that his memory had been affected. That, or he was going to abandon him in a ditch to be eaten by Germans. Of course, there was no way he could call him on it. He was hungry and following Russia might get him food. So he chose to complain loudly instead.

"Europe is too crowded. Why are there so many people? Didn't they all die out from the bubonic plague and stuff?"

"Your idiocy is breathtaking."

"Huh? Did you say something?" The irate American turned to face the Russian that was towering over the rest of the crowd and was met with a cheery, smug smile.

"Nyet, nothing at all. Might I remind you that your country is also crowded? Ah, but much of it is spread out... How nice you have so much space to strut around in." He looked around the street. It seemed familiar, they were getting close.

"Me? You're the largest country in the world... unfortunately. You have more space than I do! But it's all taken up by frozen wastelands. Sucks to be you, asshole." Russia giggled as though he had said the funniest thing in the world.

"But of course! The tundra is beautiful. How sad that you cannot appreciate it, though I suppose you never have had good taste."

"Something about you just pisses me off..." Russia giggled and reached over, unable to help himself, and tousled America's golden blond hair. "Stop it!"

"Oh, but you would make such a cute pet. If you didn't talk, I would make you one with me! Ah, we are here." Russia blinked a bit, caught off guard. It was not so much that the place was different, it was who was entering-- two people who looked suspiciously like Germany and Italy. That practically confirmed that this was the restaurant he had eaten at before. His smile grew. The two of them were holding hands. Oh, how amusing.

America turned his eyes to look where Russia pointed out and his annoyance was instantly forgotten. It was a small place, but there were quite a few people going in and out. It looked promising. Maybe they would have hamburgers there. Hamburg was in Germany, right? So naturally, they would serve them. It made perfect sense. America grinned and quickened his pace, entering the small restaurant with Russia close behind him. The temperature seemed to drop a bit when he entered and the lighting was low, almost intimate. He could not help but wonder what kind of places Germany ran, but shoved it to the back of his mind when he smelled food.

Russia entered after America, watching him with intense interest. The man-- no, boy's enthusiasm never ceased to amaze him. How did this child have so much power? No matter, such things were the mysteries of life. Though he was a little surprised America did not have numerous friends. A friendship with him would be a boon to any country. But he supposed it was for the same reason that he disliked him. His personality was terrible.

"You're sure this is a good place, right?" Russia blinked and smiled reassuringly. Then again, he always smiled. Perhaps America would not be able to differentiate the two. Not that it particularly mattered, they both had the same effect of startling everyone in the vicinity.

"Da, very good. Though to your American tastes... let's just say there is no 'happy meal' on the menu." Their server led them to a high-backed booth where one was not required to stare at the back of his neighbor's head throughout the entire meal. The server promised to return after slipping them menus, and Russia took his and began to scan it. He vaguely wondered if America could speak German.

"Don't make fun of my tastes, Commie, you eat bears." America flipped through the menu. To the surprise of many, including himself at times, he was multilingual. But English was just so much cooler, not to mention it came easier due to his many years as a colony. No hamburgers... It seemed God was not in a caring mood today. He shrugged and set his menu down. "Just order for me, Commie, I cant decide. Anything but a salad, I'll kick your ass."

Russia was still hiding his smirk. Bears? Really now... He was tempted to tell America that it was amazing what one will eat when hungry enough to string him along, then decided against it. As if he needed America to believe any more of those ridiculous stereotypes about him.

"Very well, America. I will order what I think is best suited to your tastes." He giggled and spoke in rapid German to the server, ordering for both of them, and also ordering them both drinks. A mug of beer and a vodka in a stein, which had gotten odd looks from some of the other patrons, were soon brought to the table and Russia eagerly took a swig. It was not quite as good as he had been hoping for, but it would have to do. After taking another swig, he set it down and smiled at the American across the table who was eyeing him warily. "Is something wrong?"

"You're going to die young. You realize that, right?"

"Die young?" Russia asked with a chuckle. "I am quite old already, you know. It has helped me survive if anything. And really, you would be surprised at how well it goes with everything. Care to try?" He pushed the stein towards the center of the table. As long as America just took a little sip, there would still be plenty for him. But he would not put it past him to take a giant gulp.

America was having an internal debate. On one hand, he was almost certain Russia had somehow poisoned it. He had not seen him put anything in it, but he could have spent years cultivating poison in his spit just waiting for this moment. On the other hand, he was really curious to see what all the fuss was about. As usual, his curiosity won out and he picked up the mug, bringing it to his lips. He hesitated for a moment before taking a sip and promptly choking. Alcohol was not supposed to hurt like that.

"I pity your liver." He pushed the mug back to him, repressing a shudder. His throat now felt raw and disgusting. "My stuff is way better."

"Well, your vodka is shit anyway and that is just about all I drink. To each their own." Russia took another drink, savoring the burn that America found intolerable, and stared across the booth at him. "So, the moon. It was the first thing that came into your mind, was it not? Only you could come up with something actually interesting like that."

After a quick swig of his own beer to get the bad taste out, America gave him a half-glare. He was not sure if that was an insult or not. "It'll be more fun this way. And it's originality! You're probably the only one who would take me seriously anyway. That's one of your few good points."

Russia beamed. "Oh, so I have good points? I am so pleased that the great America thinks so. I thought to you I was nothing but a Commie bastard trying to poison you at every turn. Yes, your originality, your unconventional way of thinking... I suppose that is one of _your_ good points." He spotted the server coming with two plates. Germans, such efficient creatures. "I do hope you like sausage, America."

"Yes! Who doesn't?" The scowl that had come to America's face when he was speaking was quickly replaced with an expression of utter joy. He fidgeted in his seat until they were served and grinned at the food. His own country had sausage, of course, but it was nothing like German wurst. He dug into his food. "Let's eat!"

Russia smiled softly down at his plate, carefully choosing what he wished to eat first. America was just like a little boy, all enthusiasm and energy. It must have been nice. Even as a child, he could not remember being that way. "German sausage really is the best," he mused after a bite. "Germany once told me has over a thousand different kinds. It's no wonder."

America only managed to nod, mouth full of wurst and potatoes. After swallowing his mouthful he gave him a quizzical look. "Really? Wow, he needs a new hobby. Or a girlfriend." He continued to stuff his face, but his mind was starting to wander from the food now that the hunger was subsiding a bit. This was really weird. He had just finished challenging him, and now they were eating together like pals. And it was actually kind of pleasant, but that was a contradiction! He knew Russia was incapable of being pleasant. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but his smile seemed less menacing. An optical illusion in his brain or something like that. Or maybe not, because now Russia was smirking.

"I think he has a 'girlfriend' already. If you turn, you can see them in that booth over there." Russia pointed to a booth across the aisle just out of America's line of sight. Germany sat across from Italy, glancing up from time to time then pretending he had not seen anything. "I suppose I happened to remember this place because Germany mentioned he was coming here. How funny, da?"

"What?!" America spun around, nearly cracking his neck as he turned to look at Germany and his companion. He quickly turned back to Russia and tried to sink in his seat. "I can't believe you! This looks totally awkward! They're going to get the wrong idea, and _why aren't you mortified_?" he hissed, panicking. Now instead of his stomach, it was his image that was on the line. Russia only raised an eyebrow.

"Perhaps you should learn to be less excitable? Why should I be mortified, are we not simply two countries sharing a German meal? I'm sure if you were to ask, you would find that they don't care. In fact, let's!"

"Don't--" But it was too late. Russia stood and waved, impossible to miss except perhaps by someone who was deaf and blind.

"Germany, Italy, hello!" Germany hunched down in his seat, face flushing, but Italy turned to look at them.

"Ve...? Germany, look. It's Russia and America! They must have come for sausage too! I guess your food isn't that bad after all. Aren't you happy?" He waved at the two of them, cheerful. It was odd to see the two of them together. He had the strangest feeling that they were not on good terms... clearly he had been mistaken.

"Sit down! Haha, sorry guys! We're not doing anything of interest, just eating wurst. Great stuff, am I right?" America peeked over at them and gave his best attempt at a grin before grabbing Russia's hand and pulling him down. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" he hissed, squeezing it in what was meant to be a painful warning. But the cat was out of the bag. Italy might be too dense to think it was weird, but Germany sure would.

Russia looked down at the hand America was holding. Why was he being so intimate? Oh, perhaps he wanted, what was it called, 'alone time' with him? What an interesting turn of events. He called once more to Germany and Italy. "My apologies for interrupting you. It seems he doesn't want to share me!" With that he sat down, all smiles. Germany raised an eyebrow and buried his face in a drink menu. America slumped down in his seat, utterly defeated.

"Oh God, why the hell did you say that? They've totally got the wrong idea now. They're going to think we're gay or something." America let go of Russia's hand and buried his face in his own. Being gay was not nearly as big of a problem as the fact that Russia was his supposed partner was. Russia took a drink from his stein, smile not fading.

"So? I couldn't care less what they think. To be fair, you were the one who took my hand." He spread his hands out as if that adequately settled the matter.

"Because you brought attention to us." America took a bite of the wurst, his appetite fading, a phenomenon which shocked him. "I just don't want to get lectured by Arthur. If they mention it, I'm gonna get an earful. You want my potatoes?"

Russia reached over to take the plate. "I was simply trying to help. That England is such a mother hen. I thought your war of independence was to escape his thumb?"

"Yeah, but he's still on my ass all the time. Always has something negative to say, drives me up the wall." He finished up his sausage once he got the plate back. "I think that's just the way he is. And for your information, just because he lectures me and scolds me and acts like he's my mom does not mean I'm not independent."

"I see. Of course not. It must be difficult. Family..." Russia shuddered at the thought of Belarus. "One cannot escape them. Even if they try. Very, very hard. And England _is_ particularly annoying." He almost frowned. What was this they were having? A conversation in which they were sharing information... Bonding! Yes, it seemed they were doing this 'bonding' thing. If nothing else, it would give him good blackmail material for later. He giggled to himself.

"Yeah, but it's not like I hate him or anything." America gave him an odd look. Russia's expression was becoming creepy again. "You seem like you've tried. I thought you liked those three. Like, a lot." He knew Russia had sisters, but when he thought of his 'family', his thoughts automatically went to the Baltics. Russia blinked.

"Three...? Oh, the Baltics? Oh my, yes, I am quite fond of them. They're so cute, like little pets really. I was referring in particular to my youngest sister Belarus. She is... Well, her personality is quite strong." He looked at his plate for a moment. "... Quite strong."

"Isn't she the one who follows you around and sits outside your hotel room at night? She pulled a push knife on my one time when I was talking about you." With this at least, Russia had his complete pity. Crazy bitch needed a muzzle. "But she does seem to, er, love you a lot."

"That's her. Yes, she certainly loves me. Ah... there is such a thing as too much love." Russia laughed, an awkward sound. He was becoming uncomfortable. Discussing himself was something he had never really done. People rarely asked. "I apologize if she attacked you, she simply... she cares too much. Though I can't imagine why you would be talking about me, unless you were saying something she probably had no reason to get jealous over, like the usual insult."

"No need to apologize. She's not your responsibility. And it was probably just a Commie remark." Alfred set down his fork and tried to meet his eyes, curious. This was certainly interesting. They had gone almost five minutes without any fighting, snide remarks, or intimidation techniques. Maybe this was not good. Arguing he could deal with, but having a decent conversation? That was uncharted territory. "Er, sorry if I pried."

Russia fidgeted somewhat shyly. He had not expected the American to _apologize _about it of all things. "No, I just... Well, I'm not used to it. I volunteered the information." He speared a piece of sausage and put it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

America sighed and glanced behind him at the other couple's table. Not that he and Russia were a couple. They were just two people eating together and having a meaningful conversation. Totally. "Hmm. I never knew much about you other than that you were a crazy-ass Communist in a scarf. It's kind of cool... I guess. To learn about you. But only sort of!"

"Eh? Really?" Russia looked up in surprise, some of his usual cheer returned. No one had ever said anything like that before. "Yes, it is, I suppose. Is there anything else you want to know? And before you ask, no, I don't really eat bears."

America pouted for a moment. "Hmph. Wasn't going to ask that, dumbass. Uh, well, it's really cold there. Do you ever want to be somewhere warmer? I hate the cold! I don't know how you do it. I usually end up shutting myself up in my house until winter is over." He realized that this was probably a stupid question. Russia must love his cold, snowy home. It was... Well, it was his home. However, Russia did not seem to think so. He tapped the table, eyes becoming distant.

"What can one do? We can't move. Some of you are so lucky. I wish I could be somewhere warm, too. A place where I could be surrounded by sunflowers." He shook his head. "I am used to the cold. But I like the meetings, especially when they are somewhere that isn't cold like my country. It's nice to get away for a while."

America frowned deeply, watching him. That was not right, Russia was supposed to make some sort of comment about how wonderful the tundra was and throw in a rude comment about America's landscape. He was not supposed to look like that. Before he could think, he blurted out something he was most likely going to regret.

"Once I beat your ass to the moon, you can come visit if you like. Just keep your Communist doctrine to yourself and don't let your sister know where you are." America listened to the words come out of his mouth and part of him wanted to snatch them back out of the air. This was not happening! Russia was intolerable. Him and his stupid mouth. He waited for the taller man to start laughing, but he did not. Instead, he stared at him in complete shock.

"You... will let me visit? During the summer?"

"Uh, yeah. Why not, you can come." America scratched the back of his head, chuckling nervously while his Capitalist soul shriveled up a little. But Russia seemed happy. He sat there with a nearly shy smile on his face, looking down at the table.

"I... would like that. But let's save your gloating until you've actually won, da? After all, there's a high chance that I will completely obliterate you."

"Hah! In your dreams, Russki." The server brought their checks as they finished, and America searched for his wallet. He froze when he realized it was not in his back pocket. This was not good. This was terrible... It seemed he would have to borrow money from a Communist. Owing the person he was competing with? Even he knew that was not smart, but it was that or be stuck in the back of the restaurant doing dishes for the rest of the day. "Uh... Hey, can I, uh... Can I borrow some money and pay you back when I get to the hotel?"

Russia gave him a smile that was perhaps a bit more delighted than it should have been, and America instantly regretted asking. "Oh dear, a bit short? Da, comrade, I would be happy to pay." He gave that odd little giggle of his. "I've heard about things like this, but I haven't ever been on one."

America's expression changed from one of embarrassment to thorough bewilderment. Damn Commies and their weird ways. "You haven't been on one of what?" That bizarre giggle again. That could not be a good sign.

"Oh you know..." Russia placed some money with the bill, sure to leave a decent tip. "A date."

The mortification set in again, but for an entirely different reason. It took him a good long moment until he could speak again. "Buh... Wha...? If this was a date, it was the worst one ever!" America declared for the whole restaurant to hear. "I'm gonna pay you back, this is no date! Stupid-- jackass!"

Russia was truly taken aback by the outburst. Was it not him who had been embarrassed when Russia had tried to call to Germany and Italy? And now they were most certainly looking in their direction, though Germany was quick to look away. "... Worst? Ah, perhaps I do not understand your concept of dating? We ate together, discussed personal details, and I paid. What else is there?"

"Stop calling it a date. And there's a hell of a lot more to it than that. At least in my experience." Then again, maybe he was not the best person to give advice. Russia tilted his head, somewhat bemused.

"And what would you say qualified as a proper date, out of curiosity? Your country isn't exactly known for being romantic." Not that his was either. But then again, that was why he was asking. And from the sound of it, the American potentially had 'experience'. Whatever that meant. It was probably a Capitalist lie.

"Neither is yours. And I don't know, kissing? Holding hands? Don't get any weird ideas, I'm just saying!" he huffed. "This isn't technically a date, and therefore null and void. Let's go."

Russia mused over these things. He had offered to hold hands with him, but America had not wanted to. Kissing? "Hmm, I see. Very well. And I am perfectly aware that I am not ranked among the romance countries." As he followed America out of the restaurant, he waved cheerfully at Italy and Germany. Germany looked down at the table, face flushed, as Italy returned the wave.

America refused to look at either of them, far too embarrassed. If they told a soul... More like if Italy told a soul he would be dead. He glared at Russia as soon as they were out. "Please tell me you booked a different hotel. Not the one down the road from the meeting."

"Down the road..." Russia looked at the sky, thoughtfully. "Isn't that the one they had all of us book? It seemed the best place to go. It is the closest, da? Besides, is it not more convenient for you to pay me back if we are at the same place?" He smiled, amused at how easily America was ruffled.

"God dammit." How he had ever been so deluded as to invite the jerk to his country was beyond him. It had been a lapse of judgement. It seemed that his whole day was just one stupid move after the next. But that would stop now, he would just go back and return his money, then he would be free of his presence. America jammed his hands into his pockets and headed off to the hotel, Russia close behind once more.

It was not like things could spiral into deeper weirdness than this anyway.

* * *

Eat beet, make Russian strong like bear. Eat Russian, make bear strong like beet.

America is a tart, so full of fail. Established relationships are annoying, but with Germany and Italy it's so canon... Again, sorry this took forever. Exams and such were a bitch, and I've been trying to get hired at a million places at once. That's me, the Jobless Wonder. Oh and that idiocy quote... I'm not sure if it's from a movie or not. My friend says it all the time, so yup. And my friend actually had a push knife pulled on her by another one of my friends. Shanking is no joke, man. Anyway, obligatory scary movie chapter is gonna be out of the way soon, methinks. Review!


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